A Colonial Sunset
by Xeal II
Summary: Memories of Galactica persist long after her journey into the sun, even as the old Colonials and Cylons pass into the next world, leaving their descendants alone on this Earth. This is the story of those lost 150,000 years between then and now.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This is the first chapter in a long series I am writing, to fill in the rather large gaps left in Daybreak's ending. 150,000 years is a long time, indeed.

_A Colonial Sunset_

"_All of this has happened before, all of this will happen again... again... again..."_

First Hybrid

**150,000 BC**

Somewhere in Africa

Lee Adama stood alone, as he always did, watching the wind slowly push the blades of grass like waves on the ocean. Soft wisps curled around him as his mind wandered, thoughts jumping from Kara to the future of humanity, to the end of the technological empire mankind had built, and finally back to Kara again. He should have been depressed, should have mourned the passing of the old, the end of the ragtag fleet. But he wasn't. After years of death, destruction and the very face of God, Lee just wanted to walk about, let go of those burdens which had weighed down upon him for so long.

He held his pilot's wings in his hand again, having accepted the restored rank in the moments before the final battle. The bronze felt light in his hand, comforting in a familiar sort of way. Flicking it about with his fingers, he pinned the insignia back on even though his career was at an end. Symbols were all they had left. With a soft sigh for the memory of his friend, his lover and the past that would never return, he smiled and began to hike back towards the camp. Behind him the wind continued to blow, howling into the light that surrounded the grassy field, the tortured memories of those who never survived, those who were left behind in the cold blackness of space.

**1300 BC**

Ithaca, Modern Day Greece

_I am the last who remembers, the final carrier of that ancient journey across the stars. Thousands of generations have passed since those days, but the projection remains as it always was. In the recesses of my mind I see Galactica, in her ancient glory. I remember the caravan of the heavens, the trek across the vast reaches of deep space. _

_As I dream, I follow her corridors, empty save for my footsteps and the soft thrumming of the battlestar's core. Though I cannot see them, beyond the metal, the great armor of the flagship, I know the stars burn as they always have, through the eternity of space and time. The fleet awaits outside the confines of this final defender of mankind and her progeny, silently gliding, escorting the great vessel across the river Styx and into the Sun, burning brightly in the cold vacuum. She groans slightly every time, as if the very spirit of the ship senses her glorious end._

_Long have I searched for another to share the projection, the data held within the withering resources of my once sharp mind. Only one who remembered could continue my sworn mission. None still remain who possess the ability, the Cylon trait having fallen into disuse and mutations in the genetic code. Not all of the genetic mixing could be rightly called good, after all._

_All around me, men and women go about their lives, unknowingly beginning the cycle once again, awakening from the long slumber of mankind's scientific mind. Their ideas are small, their technology nonexistent, but they have nonetheless awakened to begin the journey again. The long night is over, and sunrise has begun._

_None of them understand the old stories anymore, everything has fallen past even the vagaries of legend and into pure distant myth. Some of the names are known in a form the old colonies would remember, names of vague similarity, stories that seem to resonate just a little too much for pure coincidence. But it is all mythology now, all forgotten. And with that, the cycle begins anew._

**150,000 BC**

Somewhere in Africa

More than sixty years had passed since the end of the war and mankind's settlement here. Sunset was falling across the crimson sky, ending the long daylight. Approaching the settlement, if the village could rightly be called that, Lee Adama hobbled on his cane, carrying a small basket of fruits. A worn down piece of metal salvaged from a Raptor's wing declared this place as the settlement of Atlantia. Someone had come up with the idea of naming the few villages scattered across the world after famed battlestars lost in the war before radio communication was lost forever. There was even a Galactica settlement somewhere. Earth natives trudged out from the town, carrying trade goods, nodding to each other slightly and even exchanging a word or two here and there. The language lessons were beginning to stick with the simple people of this Earth.

Few of the original colonials and cylons still remained, but those who did were treated as almost demigods by their descendants. As Lee walked the worn dirt paths of the village, heads poked out from behind doors and tent frames, staring in an almost mystical awe.

"Sir, allow me to carry that for you." A child, no more than ten, reached out for the basket. Hera may have been the first human-cylon hybrid, but she was not the last. Reproduction among cylons proved difficult, but between humans and cylons it was all too easy. Most of this generation had some cylon and some human ancestry.

"What is your name, little one?"

"I'm William! Remember?" The small boy answered gleefully. The name was all too common, as was Lee or Kara or any number of heroes from the caravan. As he thought about it, he did remember the child. His memory was beginning to slip in his old age. The child look beseechingly up at him as he carried the fruit, anticipation clear on his face.

"Can you tell me again the story of the Colony?" William pleaded.

"But you have memories of all of it. You can project it any time you want." Lee answered. Most of the hybrid children retained that cylon ability, an obviously dominant gene. How long the ability would stay with the hybrid children, Lee could only guess. They shared projections of the Galactica, memories from the cylon mother, Athena, of the great journey. Sometimes Lee wished he could see things as they did, see the faces of his friends again. He could almost imagine seeing his father again, and Kara.

"It's not the same. I like it when you tell the story." William replied, snapping Lee out of his reverie.

"Okay, later tonight. I'm hungry." Lee answered as he hobbled to his makeshift cabin. William handed him the basket of fruit and skipped off down the dusty roads happily humming the old colonial anthem.

"Hello, sir." A mocking voice came from across the small cabin. Lee looked up to see the face of Caprica. He might have had trouble telling her apart, had any other sixes still lived.

"Enough with the sir." Lee replied distractedly.

"We swore an oath to the Admiral, to accept Colonial military command. I take it seriously." Caprica answered. "You are the last officer here."

"There is no more military, no more fleet, Caprica."

"That's not true. It remains in the minds of the children, in the legends that surround us. Like it or not, you are a symbol of that." Her wrinkled finger pointed to the bronze wings still pinned to his jacket.

"And that has become a symbol too." Caprica stated flatly.

"Yes, I see the children drawing them into their clothing, onto banners and the like. It is uncomfortable at best." Lee fiddled with the bronze insignia, thinking for a moment just how far it had traveled, from the mines of Caprica, across the universe and into this very room.

"I am dying." Caprica replied, changing the subject. "Soon, you will be the last here who took the journey."

"How do you know?"

"I am a Cylon. We know."

"I'm sorry, then, to hear that." Lee answered.

"Spare me your sympathy. I came here to pass on my authority to you. They will follow you, and no one else." Caprica continued. In the years that followed, she and Baltar had become leaders in the settlement here, teaching methods of farming to colonials, cylons and earth tribesman alike. Even after Baltar had died, she remained a powerful figure in the village. Even after all that, the cylon woman had a hard edge to her personality, even more so than was typical for her model.

"Somehow, authority always finds me, and seldom lets me rest in peace." Lee sighed.

"You are too much like your father." Caprica answered. That, at least, was true. Lee often wondered what became of him, how long Laura had remained with him, where he finally settled down or if somewhere in the sky he still wandered. He supposed that he would never know.

"Very well. I suppose there is some ceremony to attend, then?"

"Yes, tomorrow evening we will handle it. Thank you, sir." Caprica turned to the door, then paused for a moment, something else on her mind. "I trust you. They trust you. Do not let them repeat the cycle."

And with that, the door closed behind her with an air of finality even as Lee pondered her words. Thinking once again of the child soon to come begging for more stories, Lee began to have the first glimmerings of an idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

More are coming . Thanks for the positive reviews thus far.

**1300 BC**  
Ithaca, Modern Day Greece

Throngs of worshippers came to the temple, surrounding the small structure, far above its capacity. They chanted the names of the old Gods, confused in form and function with the once-remembered leaders of the great caravan. Sacrifices were made to the God of thunder, the sky-father, Zeus-pater. As if afraid the old Admiral would return, casting mighty thunderbolts from his battlestar, the descendants of humanity and her children bowed and cast their sacrifices. The language of their chants contained some almost-recognizable words from the ancient language, as many of the languages on this continent did. Other regions had evolved from the colonial language so long ago they were no longer similar in any form.

The high priestess gazed down from the podium, guiding the worshippers in their ministrations, her hands lifting towards the sky and calling upon the names of Zeus and the other Gods, old and new. As a local kinglet made his way through the chanting throngs, she extended her hand in welcome, replaying a ceremony that repeated itself every year, always the same and yet ever-changing. Her thoughts wandered as she played her assigned role, thinking once again of the ancient journey and the cycle of destruction and rebirth. As if gazing into the far future, she stared ahead into the skies and raised her hands upward.

"The mighty Zeus-pater, father of the sky, welcomes you, Lord Odysseus." Her voice rang out as the crowds looked up in silence.

"Zoe, High Priestess and chosen of Zeus, I await the sacrifice." Odysseus began in solemn tones, lifting his bow in one hand and his kill in the other.

For her part Zoe merely stared at the local leader, reading his expressions, tracing the contours of his face. She knew that expression well, it was all too similar to the one the old Admiral had worn before going into battle. There was that dogged determination, the silent regret and cunning resolve etched into the man's face. Zoe wondered briefly if the man might actually be a descendant of the Adama family, for it was known that Lee Adama likely had a few children through his many dalliances after the end. But such things were unimportant, the high priestess had to play her part in this ceremony. How the old colonials would have laughed at their elevation to Godhood, but such things took on a life of their own eventually.

"Then we begin again." Zoe replied, without a hint of the tumultuous thoughts raging within her. To her, however, the words meant far more than a mere sacrifice.

**150,000 BC**  
Somewhere in Africa

The fog lifted on occasion, allowing Lee's mind to once again gain clarity and focus. Sometimes he was walking the corridors of the long-dead battlestar or flying his bird through the ravaging squadrons of raiders. Other times he was exploring the world, reaching out in his own way for Kara. And sometimes his mind returned to the present, as if a great weight were lifted from his consciousness. He couldn't even remember how old he was, all other colonial and cylon survivors were long dead and he but a stone's throw from death himself. William, now of middle age himself, entered the cabin and bowed before the old fighter pilot, lifting up his bow in one hand and his kill in the other.

"I have come to give food, sir." William said in solemn, almost awestruck tones.

"Thank you, William." Lee replied.

"You remember today."

"Yes. I remember." Lee replied, playing with the old insignia on his tattered clothing. "How goes the relocation?"

"It is well, sir, we will be able to leave soon." William answered, standing from his prostrate position. Lee had long ago given up trying to convince the descendants to give up this silly ritual. The society of the descendants was forming on its own, something new and different than the one that had given it life. They were no longer colonials or cylons or even natives, they were their own people. To them he was the Last Colonial. Once he had ruled over them, cast once again into authority against his will, but now they merely came to him for advice, and to tell him of the things they had done. He was revered, worshipped even, but no longer consulted in the manner of a leader. It was no matter, they knew this world better than he ever could, having grown up in it.

William stared at the insignia, his eyes captivated by it. The bronze wing had become more than just an insignia, it was the symbol of his high office, the symbol of the old world. The descendants knew the story and the old world still, carrying within them the projections passed down from generation to generation. Lee was told that _Galactica_ would never be forgotten, that the journey would be passed down forever as a reminder of the old and a warning to the future. William shifted uncomfortably and Lee was pulled out of his reverie.

"William, you have been preparing this journey for years. You have been nearly ready for a long time. What is the hold up?" Lee inquired.

"Sir, we will not leave without you, but we do not know how to take you with us yet." William bowed again.

"You should leave me behind. I don't have much time. You must leave before the water dries up completely." Lee lectured with a slight tone of disapproval which seemed to carry enormous weight with William. The sources of water had been drying up as the planet's climate shifted and the settlement was prepared to move to more fertile land northward.

"No one would ever leave you behind sir. You are the Last Colonial." The words were spoken in the deepest respect. "You did not leave our ancestors behind."

"I tire of the past, son. The future belongs to you. Carry Atlantia northward, find greener lands and never forget the lessons we have learned." Lee fidgeted with the wing-symbol a moment before pulling it off his jacket. William looked as if a great sacrilege had been committed, but Lee dismissed the expression and gestured towards the man. His old, wrinkled fingers gently pried open the younger man's hand, leaving the symbol there and turning away.

"Now you are the Last Colonial." Lee spoke simply. William's eyes widened in an expression of shock, but his fingers clasped the insignia reverently. The younger man turned on his heel and walked out silently, ready to address the crowd that Lee knew was waiting somewhere outside. Lee hoped his plan would work, that it would defeat the cycle for all time. The descendants knew their role, to carry their people to the north and there build a city, not of the old kind of machines and electricity, but of knowledge. It was to be like the old city of the Gods described in colonial myth, a place of learning. And there they would keep to their mission to never allow this world to fall as the ones before it had. Only these hybrids of man and machine could fulfill such a role, and that gave Lee hope.

Days later, the whole of the village had come, their possessions tied to their backs or small carts. Somehow Lee had found the strength to walk a few feet and deposited himself in a chair on the porch of this tiny cabin. He had to see them off, even though he cared little for the ritualistic behavior of this new society. Ahead of him, the entire population of descendants bowed low, then stood and gave the old colonial salute. Lee returned the gesture weakly.

"So say we all." The crowd intoned reverently.

"So say we all." Lee answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The crowd slowly moved over the hill, disappearing out of sight for the last time. William lingered a moment on the hill looking back towards the now-abandoned settlement. That one will be a good leader, Lee thought, he will remember the past but not be burdened by it. With a final wistful gaze at the village, he heaved the metal from the raptor wing on his shoulder, taking the name of Atlantia with him. When he was gone, Lee felt the life fading from him, that force which kept him alive day by day vanishing as he lost the reason to continue any further. Blackness overcame the ancient man's eyes, leaving one final word for him.

"Kara…"

And then he was gone from this world, living only in the thoughts of the people marching away from the old settlement. Dust blew across the village, over the graves of colonial and cylon alike, crying for the return of life. As if in reply, two figures coalesced out of the air and dirt, echoing the faces of two long dead.

"Do you think it will work?" The first being said, his face a mirror of Gaius Baltar.

"How should I know? You're the one who always claims to understand God's plan for these people." The one in the form of Six replied sarcastically.

"I claim no such thing, my dear." Came the reply. And with that, both figures stared across the empty fields, towards the people long out of sight. Above, the sky shifted in bright colors as the sun set for the final time on the old world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Circa 30,000 BC**  
An Island Somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea

Towers of stone and brick stretched into the sky, white-washed and glimmering in the light of the mid-day sun. Like fingers reaching for the heavens, they seemed to call from above, echoing the memories of its citizens, echoing the cycle that had been held at bay for eons. Banners stretched forth from their spires, flapping gently in the breeze, colors standing in sharp contrast to the white purity below.

A lone figure gazed from the heights of the tallest tower, staring at the concentric circles of stone wall surrounding the city, that final repository of ancient knowledge which stood against the never-ending cycle of death and rebirth. His robes flowed from behind him, fluttering gently in the whispering winds, as he stood unmoving, staring at the crowd milling about below. It was a crowd which had grown ever-smaller in the eons since the great caravan of the stars. This year, but a few hundred remained, and for the next year, who could say? Behind the man, an old woman hobbled, her hair as white as the stone which surrounded her. Her voice was a raspy whisper, barely audible even over the soft breeze.

"Saul, you know what must be done." The crone whispered. Like so many from the ancient city of knowledge, his name echoed the names of others long forgotten by the rest of the world. It was a tradition that was finally beginning to fade, like the city itself. Shunning high technology, yet embracing the memory of it, the city was a facade of prosperity even amidst its terminal decline.

"Your just delay. The knowledge will be lost someday." Saul stated simply, his eyes wandering to the enlightened citizens below.

"Everything dies." Came the soft reply.

"I have done what you asked. Three hundred of our scholars I have sent out among them, to seek out others who might still retain the ability."

"Humanity must be allowed to continue without us someday. You must accept it." The crone answered.

"They are not ready."

"They will be." She seemed so certain of that, it was a sentiment Saul did not share. They had done their duty for over 100,000 years. The city of Atlantia had moved many times in those long years, yet fewer and fewer each generation retained the projection ability, the rest simply couldn't comprehend the ancient world. Computers and spacecraft carried no common frame of reference with them, they were as magical as Gods and Prophets. Many had long since gone native, taking their knowledge of Atlantia's civilization to the tribal societies on the edge of the city, there to live as great lords. There was no counting how many had left the city in the last few generations, and it was all too easy to count those who remained.

"And how will anyone know when they are ready?" Saul asked, a touch of sarcasm creeping into his voice. Despite his cynicism, he genuinely wished the thing were true.

"You will know." She replied, winking at him before turning around and hobbling out, humming the ancient song that had once led colonial and cylon alike to this world. Outside, Atlantia continued, quieter now, as if preparing for a long sleep. Saul adjusted the ancient bronze insignia dangling from his chain of office. That tradition, at least, still remained.

**1300 BC**  
Ithaca, Modern Day Greece

Night had fallen and Odysseus lingered in the shadows long after the others had left the temple, watching Zoe perform her ritualistic duties by firelight, spying her every move. Oil basins burned brightly in the old temple, creating shadows that played across the wood and stone like an army of demons. The wizened warrior had his suspicions about the strange priestess, the supposedly devoted servant of Zeus who strangely lacked something, some critical element of faith the others had maintained. Intrigued despite himself, he stared, his gaze fixated on the woman who remained surprisingly beautiful for her age.

"What do you want, Lord Odysseus?" She asked distractedly, not even looking at him.

"You knew I was here." He stated, slinking out from the shadows soundlessly, every step betraying him as the warrior of local legend.

"Of course I knew. This is my temple, after all." She replied, flicking her hair about behind her.

"It isn't yours. It belongs to Zeus, the sky father." Odysseus replied with just a touch of cynicism.

"Do you know Zeus? Has he spoken to you?" She answered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Does he speak to you?" Came the reply.

"In his own way." She replied cryptically.

"I wish to understand the Gods. Not in the manner of the peasants, but as a learned man." Odysseus stated simply.

"Oh. A learned man. Very nice. You know nothing."

"I know that you do not believe in the Gods." Odysseus answered, smiling with pride at his cleverness.

"I have spoken to them, and they have spoken to me. Is that not enough for you?"

"For them, it might be. See I have long held a belief that perhaps the Gods are little different than men, or even men themselves who are but stronger and wiser. And I see that you know this as truth." Odysseus continued as Zoe watched him with rapt interest, her amused expression falling away, as if some great secret had been released into the world before its time. Clutching the old chain and the broken, ancient bronze wings dangling from it, she gasped.

"Then why do you sacrifice to them still? Why are you here?" She asked, her voice soft and filled with worry.

"The people need something to believe in. Let it be Gods ascended to the heights of Mount Olympus." His words echoed those of another leader from eons in past, determined to give his crew hope after the destruction of their entire civilization. With that answer, Zoe knew the time had come, even if man was not yet ready.

"Believe in this, those you worship as Gods were more than just men, they had knowledge and understanding that I cannot even begin to relate to you. They possessed the power to travel beyond this world, beyond the sky and the stars. They could even create life. They had all the powers you attributed to the Gods and more, even, than that. But their arrogance brought about their end, and your beginning. I cannot show you the truth as it was shown to me, but perhaps I can make you understand some of it in story." Zoe relaxed visibly, releasing her great burden in the only way she could, telling the story as the flames of the temple burned on into the night. Odysseus hardly moved throughout the night, his eyes fixated on the priestess, his entire being focused on the knowledge that poured from her lips.

**150,000 BC**  
Before Galactica's final journey into the Sun  
CIC, Galactica

Caprica stood watch as Admiral Adama toured CIC for the last time, taking in the sight of his ruined battlestar. She envied the love that the old man had for his ship and wondered, not for the first time, if things would have turned out differently for human and cylon alike had mankind shown the same love to the first cylons. She watched as the Admiral drank in the sight of his dying command, even as groans echoed throughout the ship, as if to beg the man to stay with her to the end.

Above the Admiral, Sam thrashed momentarily in the hybrid tank, a stream of meaningless babble erupted from his mouth like bullets from a machine gun, the rapid stream of nonsense breaking the silence like a hammer through glass.

"Times are changing forever. Ship dead not forgotten. Do not overload the ACS bus. You bet'cha Chief. Where are we? When am I? Yes. At my end. We will be remembered. They will know her. They will know me. End of Line. End of the Line."

For his part, Adama merely continued his final survey of the heart of his vessel, unimpeded by the words flowing from the ancient cylon. His fingers lingered for a moment on the center console before leaving the room forever. Feeling as if she were somehow witnessing a thing she was not meant to see, Caprica turned and left, heading to take the final Raptor flight away from the once-mighty warship. Behind her, the ship groaned again, protesting her impending end, striving to serve humanity once again even with her back broken and her systems failing.

Watching from the Raptor window as it turned to reenter the atmosphere, Caprica saw the last Viper shoot out from the launch tube. Adama was taking one final survey of the remains of Galactica, now shorn of her commander and her crew, as alone in this universe as anyone could be. A few armor plates broke loose from their mountings as Sam realigned the ship towards the sun and Adama turned towards the planet below. A single tear flowed from Caprica's cheek as she thought of the many lives the ship had saved, and how many she had taken. The guilt lay on her mind as an immense weight that she knew she would take with her to her grave. That machine out there, without consciousness such as hers, without the layers of cylon advancement, had known the right thing to do. Galactica had no such burden to bear as she drove on towards her end, she would be able to rest knowing she had done no wrong, that she had served well. Caprica doubted anyone on the planet below could say the same.

As her Raptor reentered the atmosphere, taking her from the depths of space, the world that had been her home for so long, she committed the sight to memory. Someday she would share the insight, someday others would learn as she had, even if it meant others would know the horrible things she had done. It was the least she could do for a fellow machine. It was the least she could do for the human race she was about to join.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for reading thus far. The story has a rather disjointed nature to it (common among stories taking place in multiple time periods). But I promise that I'm going somewhere with it :). Enjoy.

"_Nothing but the rain..."_

Kara Thrace

**Circa 30,000 BC**  
An Island Somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea

Fingers slipped across the white-washed stone, disturbing the ancient surface, dust clinging to the worn fingertips. The crone hobbled slowly down the empty cobblestone street, her white hair streaming behind her in the soft breeze that carried across the nearly deserted city. Atlantia was like a dream that had outlived the dreamer, a monument to the ancient world that had long since been forgotten by the rest of the world.

Rain clouds gathered above the city, but the old woman didn't pay any attention to them. Her gaze fixed upon the sun, shining ahead of the roiling weather, as if trying to stave off the coming storm. Thunder boomed out across Atlantia, echoing across the emptiness as a scream in the darkness.

With sudden fear, the crone realized that the sound was not thunder. Her mind snapped out of deep thought as she glanced behind her. The mountain behind the deserted city was aflame, as if the very depth of hell had erupted from it's summit. Lava poured from the gaping maw of the volcano like a fountain of flame. One of the stone towers collapsed as the ground shook with violent upheaval. The fear in her mind subsided again; she was old, death had little grip on her thoughts anymore. Saul came running from the collapsing tower, covered in soot.

"Come on, we have to get out of here! Hurry!" Saul shook her violently, but she didn't move.

"I would slow you down. You go. Now." Her bony finger stretched out and pointed to the ancient symbol dangling from the chain around Saul's neck. "You must survive."

Saul hesitated a moment, but the unwavering determination of the woman convinced him to go. The remaining citizens of the ancient city took to their heels, running down the cobblestone streets, desperate to reach safety. For her part, the old crone sat back down, still holding her cane, and smiled. Smoldering hunks of burning rock began to fall from the sky as the storm clouds covered the city. Water poured from the sky even as the hot death descended with it, the burning rain coming to cleanse the Earth once again. The crone knew the angels were watching, and it gave her small comfort in her final moments.

**1300 BC**  
Ithaca, Modern Day Greece

Odysseus stood as dawn crept across the horizon, that tiny sliver of daylight shining into the darkness which had surrounded the temple. For him it was a rebirth, a reawakening. His mind reeled with the implications of the ancient story. Men navigated among the stars and flew through the air with ease. Men built structures as high as mountains. Men created living things of metal, things that could think and reason as a man could. But more importantly, man had fallen, in an almost literal sense, from the heavens and descended to the Earth. Vengeful, spiteful Gods were perhaps an easier thing to believe, though Odysseus knew the priestess was truthful.

"And that thing you wear around your neck, it is a symbol of the old ways?"

"More than that, it made... from a piece of those stars. From a world far away from this one. It was called Caprica in the ancient tongue." Zoe explained. "I remember it as it was, a warrior's rank."

"You remember this? As if you were there?" Odysseus asked again.

"Yes. We are all part Cylon now. Those ancient machines? Part of them lives in you too." Zoe answered, her gaze fixated on the growing sunrise.

"But you cannot make me remember it as you do."

"No. I am the last. The rest is myth, this religion your people have built around the ancient stories our people told you, tales half-remembered. You and other peoples around the world have turned into religion." Zoe replied, her voice hoarse, nearly a whisper.

"Your people. They never tried to get those great powers again?"

"Never. I do not remember them as I remember the journey, one can only hold so much. But I remember some. It was the mission of the ancient city of Atlantis to guard against any return of the old ways, to prevent the destruction and the cycle of death from starting again."

"Will we?"

"Yes. You have already begun. You forge ever-stronger metals. You learn more clever ways to do battle and rule kingdoms. Someday your people will learn the ancient powers again. I can only hope you are ready when you do." Zoe answered. Soon a smile over took her face for a moment. "It is good to speak of these things. It is hard to carry this burden alone."

Odysseus took her hand gently as day broke into the world.

**150,000 BC**  
Somewhere in Africa

Though the knowledge had been dormant for so long, it was apparent that Baltar didn't simply know 'a bit' about farming; he was a natural at it. Despite all the ability the scientist had poured into intellectual topics of grandiose importance, despite all the effort he expended in his never ending quest for female companionship, it was obvious that farming was something that was in his blood, a thing deeper and more permanent than any of his other talents. Caprica wondered if this was not his greater purpose rather than the war he had inadvertently helped to start or even the hybrid child he had protected.

It was strange doing this manual work, but liberating in an odd sort of way. Until setting foot on this planet, she never had to worry about food and shelter. These small things in life had always been handled by machines. Great processing machines on the baseships, and even on Galactica herself, labored to produce the nutrients required to power these biological constructs. Always she had concerned herself with the very destiny of worlds, entire civilizations, and now she merely had to ensure that crops grew properly, that the soil was prepared in the right manner. Some might have found it beneath them, but Caprica had long felt out of place in the world of grandiose schemes, she had long yearned for the simple. It was obvious to her that some part of Baltar felt the same, though the scientist would probably never admit it.

"Uh, could you help me with this." Baltar interrupted. "If you don't mind, of course. These roots... well they are rather difficult to pull up."

"And you could use some of my Cylon strength?" Caprica replied sarcastically.

"Well... Yes." Baltar responded in that odd, somewhat hesitant manner of his. "I would appreciate it."

With a simple yank, Caprica tore the offending root with relative ease. Some benefits of a Cylon pedigree were still quite useful. As she continued working on the burgeoning farm, she began to wonder if God felt the same way about people as Baltar did about his plants. Did they somehow provide God with nourishment? The thought struck her with an odd sense of fullness she knew she could never explain. For his part, Baltar simply returned to work, ignoring anything but the task at hand. That single minded determination had caused a great deal of trouble for the human race in the past, but Caprica suspected it was exactly what this new society needed to survive. He had come full circle, from nearly destroying his own people to understanding the way to save them.

She imagined their descendants, for she was well aware of her new pregnancy even though Gaius was still oblivious. Wandering, her mind wondered if someone ought to ensure that humanity, as a crop, grew properly. Someone would have to care for them. Someone would have to raise the new society in such a way that it would never repeat the mistakes of the old. And whoever that was would have to remember the old world as she did. In her mind, Galactica still remained above them somewhere, floating throughout space, battling her way across the stars. It was a memory the world might need again someday.

Somewhere beyond this solar system, the rebel baseship continued its journey into the stars, its cylon crew evolving on their own. Caprica knew they lacked any real malice. They were a truly blank slate for the universe to write upon, much like these people here. As if in reply to her thoughts, rain began to fall from the heavens, providing the plants with much needed nourishment of their own. Baltar immediately scattered off to find shelter, but she stood momentarily, enjoying the sensation of water on her skin. Everything about this world was cleansing to her. Her guilt was something she could never relieve herself of, but sometimes she could forget, if only for a moment.


	5. Chapter 5

"_Spins and turns, angles and curves. The shape of dreams, half remembered. Slip the surly bonds of earth and touch the face of perfection - a perfect face, perfect lace. "_

_-Anders, after becoming a hybrid  
_

**150,000 BC**  
Rebel Baseship, in Orbit Above Earth

The color of blood, scanning back and forth, beckoned her. It held her gaze for a long moment, unwavering in dedication, entirely focused on the moment. The Six who had come to be called Sage merely contemplated the centurion in return. There was no hostility in the machine's gaze, but she knew she was on the verge of wearing on its patience, if it had such a thing. What motivated the liberated centurions, Sage couldn't say, but they would soon learn on their own in any event. Her job here was done, the baseship was ready for its new masters. Her hand moved, almost of its own accord, to touch the face of the machine. A short movement passed before the machine tacitly acknowledged the gesture. This particular centurion had long been her bodyguard, and it was appropriate to have some fondness for it.

"Goodbye, friend." Sage said simply, backing into the Raptor. Strangely, the centurion stared a moment longer than it should, before turning to the airlock. With her departure, the centurions were truly alone, left to pursue their own path.

Friend. The word was simple. After a brief moment of intense processing, the CPU pulled an appropriate definition from the machine's database. Friend. A fond companion, an associate. The centurion pondered the word before deciding that it made an appropriate designation for itself. Appending its serial number entry with the word friend, the machine felt an equivalent of satisfaction. This was good. Many designations had been changed since it had been awakened. Humans were no longer "enemy" and could now be regarded as "ally." That had been a strange sensation, but it now felt appropriate. The humanoid models and the humans had both entrusted them with the mighty warship, given them their freedom and defended them from the malfunctioning cylon models who wished to destroy them. The word "ally" certainly seemed to encompass such a definition. Perhaps they were "friends" too.

_I am Friend. _It was the centurion's first truly independent thought. The basestar jumped away from the Human world as the centurions began their own journey across the stars.

**Near Future**  
Smithsonian Institute

Night had fallen, leaving the building empty save for the occasional security guard. Soft music flowed from the speakers, echoing across the cavernous chamber. The loneliness was empowering, driving her to finish the analysis, coursing through her veins with an excitement that couldn't be denied. The object before her was worn deeply, discolored and obviously ancient beyond parallel. Iron decayed with time, softer metals wore away, but this bronze could last through the ages. How many had held the broken symbol? What stories could it tell those who had the wisdom to see its secrets?

150,000 years. The dating analysis was conclusive beyond any doubt. Computers had labored for days to extrapolate what it had looked like once, the details that had been worn away by the centuries. The precision, too, was undeniable. A technological civilization had once existed here, wearing away until only this last trace remained. What she wouldn't give to understand its mystery.

"What is that thing, professor?" A security guard peeked from around the corner, nearly scaring the young scientist out of her wits.

"John. How many times have I told you? Don't do that!" She smiled, winking at the end of her tirade. This little sneak and scare game of theirs always kept them both on their toes.

"Well that's three for me, Laura. I win this week. But the question stands... what is that?"

"It was found in a dig in Istanbul, old Constantinople among some old Byzantine artifacts." She replied simply.

"I didn't ask where you found it... what is it?" John pushed. To add to the effect, he shined his flashlight at it, as if the mere act of doing so could answer his question.

"I don't know. It's a symbol of a bird's wings, beyond that the only thing I know is that its older than it has any right being."

"Some of the stuff that comes through here is really amazing..." John said flippantly. "I've gotta get back to my rounds, but hey, tell me more about that thing later. Better to hear it from you than read it in the papers." With that, John turned back to the main hall, whistling to himself. Laura just stared at the symbol.

"Where have you been. Where do you come from?" Laura whispered. Somewhere, deep within her mind, she wondered if it had an answer for her. The scanners made their next pass, illuminating the room in a deep blue glow, the color of the deepest oceans.

**  
1300 BC**  
Ithaca, Modern Day Greece

Odysseus always returned to her over the years, after every battle, after every great ceremony. Others might be satisfied with a life of conquest, a life of power, but it meant little to him. It simply was. The story of the Gods, of the ancient men who crossed the stars, had long ago dwarfed whatever sense of accomplishment he could muster. The story fascinated him in a manner nothing else could; it felt right to learn these things, it was like touching the face of the divine.

Zoe was as she always was, the years hardly wearing on her. Odysseus couldn't imagine how she felt, knowing of the ancient world as if she had lived there herself. He had such hopes that their daughter could learn this great power of hers, but such was for naught. It was as she told him, she would be the last.

"How small I must seem to you." He whispered, almost without realizing it.

"No. The future of this world... you are building the foundation for it. My people.. my time is finished." She answered, taking his hand as he sat beside her.

"I will remember. Stories may fade, but we live on through them. It's why my men fight. Not for me, not for gold, not even for their loved ones, but to be remembered in verse." Odysseus answered.

"I'm tired. I don't think I have much time to live any more." She told him in that simple manner of hers.

"Then tell me more, love. I will tell others." But Zoe merely shook her head, stood, and returned to her work. Odysseus just looked on wistfully.

A strange sound emanated from skies above, breaking his thoughts. Light filled the sky, a brightness greater than the stars and even the moon. Wind kicked up everywhere as a deafening roar filled his ears, beyond that of the strongest beasts or the great armies of thousands of warriors. For a moment, fear gripped his thoughts, that panicked urge to flee finding its way into his mind. He was well practiced at suppressing those annoyances, however. A more rational part of his mind responded with what he knew was truth.

They had come for her. Good or bad, he couldn't say, but these had to be those from that came from the sky long ago. A great machine larger than the temple or even his own personal fortress touched down upon the dirt. It was like a beast, an incarnation of Hades himself, the glowing red eye seeing all.

And then it opened. Nothing Zoe had told him prepared him for this moment, it was like coming face to face with the Gods. Odysseus did the only thing he could do, bending to one knee and bowing deeply.

**30,000 BC**  
Former Rebel Baseship, Deep Space

The ceremony began as it always did. The most ancient centurions boarded the old flagship first, ascending to the heavens for deep space, leaving behind their vibrant world for the cold blackness. Each wore the sash, the red stripe from waist to opposing shoulder, the symbol of their way of life.

Civilization had come to the ancient centurions eventually, some had decided to recreate the humanoid models again, but this time not as masters. Flesh or metal, they were all the same, some of each came along the journey. Some were built, others had been born. Some had been designed, some were the products of fate, but they were all Red Stripes. The symbol had becoming the defining element of their society. The Cylon name had long ago fallen into disuse, tainted by the actions of the Cavils, replaced by the symbol their liberators had given to them.

One of the oldest machine models strode into the ancient command center, looking about wistfully as his mechanical eye surveyed the place, committing everything to memory. The others bowed respectfully, it was the way of things when one was in the presence of the Eldest.

"I tire of that part of the ritual." He said in his simple machine voice. Most of the ancient models had installed vocal processors. Though networked communication was more efficient, it was also less private. The concept of privacy had taken awhile to entrench itself in Red Stripe society, but it had since become the mark of freedom. Very few utilized the networks for anything but the most rudimentary functions.

"Doesn't it honor you, sir?" One of the humanoid models spoke simply.

"It's not for me that you should do it. We are out here to remember the ancient journey, the alliance that freed us, and those who gave up existence to do so. Honor them." The Eldest replied, his voice taking on the sound of a lecturing professor.

"We honor them too." The young humanoid adjusted his sash, beaming with pride at having been selected for the journey. The Eldest took his station, nodding to the youngling with an air of pride.

"The humans told us once that all this has happened before. We must not let it happen again, we take to the stars to remember...." The Eldest's voice droned on, speaking the same words that had echoed across this ship every year for eons. The youngling simply watched with reverence.


	6. Chapter 6

"_Come. See the face of the shape of things to come."_

_-Angel-Six_

**1300 BC**

Former Rebel Basestar, Geosynchronous Orbit Over Earth

_Earth. The Stripes knew this place well, it was their version Kobol, the place their destiny began. Some said it should be left alone, avoided at all costs, in order to spare the human society the burdens of the ancient past. Others were more curious, wishing to watch over their ancestors as they reemerged from the darkness. _

_It was appropriate that this vessel return once again to this refuge, but the machine felt a tinge of sadness, knowing something was missing, something had been lost over the eons. Stripe society had thrived and spread across the stars like the humans of old. Many had already begun to forget the origins and Friend suspected they might start the ancient cycle among themselves. As it was, it was no longer his concern, those who forgot were no longer Stripes by his reasoning._

_As the Eldest, he boarded the Heavy Raider first, the worn joints of his armor groaning in protest. Many components had been replaced over the years, but his body still felt old, used up. Age was usually considered irrelevant to the machine Stripes, but Friend had begun to understand it. Behind him, newer machines and a few of the humanforms who had remained loyal silently boarded the old ship, bound for the last refuge of the Colonials and the original Cylons._

**1300 BC**

Ithaca, Modern Day Greece

Odysseus had never seen the like, he couldn't even truly comprehend what his eyes told him. Zoe's stories had spoken of metal life, the creations of those wizard-men of the heavens, but to actually see them was like seeing the faces of the Gods. Villagers had crept from their homes to see the commotion, but had scattered in fear upon the sight of the machine-men. Odysseus resisted the urge to join them and bent himself low in a bow as Zoe came running from the temple.

"I am Odysseus, King of Ithaca. How might I serve you, my Lords?" He spoke reverently, wondering if the machine-men could even speak his language. Evidently they could, responding after a long moment of silence.

"Do not bow to us Odysseus, King of Ithaca. We are not your Lords. You are not ours. We are equals." The first machine began, his strange voice different from anything the king had ever heard. There was nothing to compare it to. "I am called Friend and I am simply the Eldest."

Hesitatingly at first, Odysseus rose to his feet, finding his courage even as a few of the bravest villagers crept from the boundaries of the forest beyond, eyes peeking through the darkness, whispers carrying across the wind.

"You are Cylons?" Odysseus asked carefully, using the name Zoe had given him for the ancient machine men.

"We are not Cylons." Friend answered, gesturing to the red sash that lay across his metal body. "Our erroneous ancestors were Cylons. We are Stripes."

"I understand."

"Do you, human?"

"You are not the killer of men. I am not the enslaver of machines." Odysseus responded, hoping he understood Zoe's stories well enough.

"So your people do remember." The red pulse of the eye quickened, metal joints flexing, visibly relaxing the powerful pose.

"Very few of us, only she truly remembers." Odysseus replied, pointing to Zoe, who had remained motionless in deep contemplation.

"I remember you, Friend." Zoe finally spoke, her priestly robes flowing behind her as she descended from the steps of the temple. "I remember everything."

**150,000 BC**

Admiral Adama's Cabin

It had been many years since the journey had ended and the admiral found himself here, a hermit, alone with his memories and the ghosts of the past. In his many years, no one had come to this remote place, and he had never left it. He often wondered of his son, of Kara and his old crew, but such thoughts had a hollowness to them, an emptiness that truly defined his nostalgia. If any word could describe him in the days following the settlement of Earth, it was exhaustion. Not in a purely physical sense, enough strength remained in him to finish this tiny home, but rather in a spiritual sense. He was empty, used up and discarded by his own choice. A part of him had died with his ship, and another with his love. When had he last spoken aloud? He couldn't remember anymore, his thoughts and words seemed to merge in his memory and vanish like the fleet struggling off into the sun.

Whispers seemed to come to his mind, echoes of memories from the journey. It was the defining purpose of his life, and he had never realized it until it was over. It was tragic that humanity had to die for him to learn how to live. His makeshift cabin connected to the still-functional Raptor he had flown here. Though he rarely bothered to power it up anymore, he felt the need today. Sitting among the consoles, the lights and the metal was somehow comforting in a familiar sort of way.

A tone interrupted his thoughts, the first such noise he had heard in a very long time.

"..... This is Atlantia, Actual." The voice was female, and was recognizable in some way. Apparently some wireless sets were still operational. What this business was about a destroyed battlestar, Adama didn't know, but he felt obligated to respond.

"Atlantia, this is Galactica, Actual." He felt himself say. Talking after so long seemed odd and unnatural.

"Dad, is that you?" The voice belonged to his son, having evidently replaced the woman from before.

"Yes."

"Where are you?" Lee asked, static nearly cutting off the signal.

"Right where I belong." Came the gruff reply. "What do you mean by Atlantia?"

"We named the scattered settlements after old battlestars. It seemed appropriate. How are you doing?" Lee pointedly avoided discussing Laura Roslin.

"I am old. It's peaceful. I couldn't ask for more."

"Well I'm glad I got you on the wireless. You might want to know, there are many human and cylon hybrid children now. They can project, the Cylons have been transferring their memories of the journey." Lee continued, his voice returning to a business-like formality. It had always been this way with them, with little time for displays of family or emotion. Joseph had been much the same, the old admiral saw much of his own father in his son.

"What does this mean for everyone?"

"It means, dad, that the children will remember. They won't repeat our mistakes as long as they remember first-hand the horrors the violence caused."

"If only it were that simple son. But I agree, it is a good thing. How is Kara?" A brief, awkward silence passed on the other end.

"She's gone." Lee answered finally.

"Somehow, I knew. She was never really ours, was she?" The admiral's voice cracked and he wheezed slightly.

"No. Kara was something else." Lee's voice took on a note of sadness, but it seemed to be tempered by something else. Nostalgia, maybe, or something even deeper. More silence passed, something else typical of their chats, but sometimes that quiet said far more than any words could.

"How does it look where you are?" Lee asked, changing the subject again.

"The sun is setting. It's beautiful, like Laura. Twilight is coming soon."

"It's already dark here. The stars are something special, nothing like we saw on the colonies. They are so bright, banding across the sky like that."

"We'll go back to them someday, son. When we're ready." With that lingering in the air, the old admiral switched off the wireless, powering down the Raptor's systems for the last time. He hobbled back into the cabin, laying down to sleep, knowing he would see her again soon. For just a moment the old admiral imagined himself on Galactica again, sprawled out in his quarters, the woman he loved in his arms. A smile crept across his features as he dozed off. Outside the sun disappeared from the horizon, casting the world in the uncertainty of twilight.


	7. Chapter 7

"_The truth is told by whoever is left standing."_

_-Tom Zarek_

**Near Future**  
Smithsonian Institute

The object taunted her with its mysteries; it called to her to unlock its secrets. No one else believed her reports, her superiors just laughed at her papers on the subject, but to her the data spoke volumes. In the end, she had not suspected the object was anything special, she knew it. Like one knew the sky was blue or the ocean tide would ebb and flow, Laura knew the worn, broken wings were more important than anything in this great museum. Behind the scientist, on a small cot, her daughter stirred, but did not wake, caught in a fitful dream.

The radio switched tunes, the night DJ's eclectic tastes reserved for those hours where few were listening. Laura knew the words, of course, like the antiquities housed in this place, she appreciated the classics.

"All along the watchtower…Princes kept the view…" The song's lyrics echoed across the examination room, filling it with soft comforting sound. Her final tests were finished. As a scientist, her first goal had been to try and disprove her instinct, but every test she ran only confirmed the results. 150,000 years had passed since the tiny relic had been cast. Of that, she was certain. But even then, the results surprised her. It was bronze, but the composition was slightly different, perhaps more optimal for preservation than the modern variants. It was puzzling; perhaps the society which had created the object was even more advanced than the modern one.

"Who's there? John?"

Suddenly she had the very real sensation that someone was watching her, but the mischievous security guard did not show himself. No response came from the empty hallways of the museum either. As she relaxed, the song faded out, leaving only the radio DJ's voice to echo across the room.

"I've always enjoyed that song, it's really deep, isn't it? Now for a song you should all remember by…" The voice droned on, but Laura was no longer listening. Her mind began to wander again, imagining the world 150,000 years ago, a world more similar to her own than that imagination could grasp. Laura's daughter woke up from the small cot on the other end of the room and yawned slightly, her eyes fixating on the object of her mother's curiosity.

"You okay, sweetie?" Laura asked, her thoughts turning to one of guilt. Sometimes her dedication to her work made life hard for her five-year-old daughter.

"Yea. I just had a funny dream."

"What about?"

"The Sky People." She said, pointing to the broken wings.

**1300 BC**  
Ithaca, Modern Day Greece

_The memory was burned into the minds of all who saw it, even though few understood what had happened. All who witnessed the coming of the Gods, for none questioned who the great creatures the sky were, understood the event as the fulfillment of a supreme yearning. Though the memories of the past had long ago become mere mythology, half-remembered truths, those stories left something behind in their passing. _

_A part of these men wanted to return to the stars, a part of them yearned for something greater than the monotony of farming and petty warlords. They remembered, after a fashion, their ancient glories and terrible mistakes. This version of man was always gazing upward, possessing with an ambition and drive that was exceptional even when compared to Colonial history. They were always seeking to return to the place they came from, and some part of them realized that they belonged up there, where the machine-men had descended from. _

"I remember everything." Zoe began, her delicate hand reaching for Friend's metal joints. After a mere moment of hesitation, the space of a single human breath, Friend responded, gently clasping her hand.

Even Zoe, with all of her knowledge of the past, was unprepared for what happened next. She felt the sensation of falling, of descending through the ocean of time until she once again walked the hallowed halls of Galactica. Time passed rapidly, the years of the great journey passing before her. Friend was there with her, the red eye examining her without any hint of malice. Behind him, in rapid motion, men and women passed, like images in an old tape recorder, fast-forwarding through time in a blur. It was the first time since the projection had been passed to her that she had shared it with another, but even then, it was never like this.

"You can project now. You have grown." She began in her mind as the blurs of motion continued around her.

"It took a long time to learn. The physical interface was easy, but there was always something missing. We learned eventually." Friend replied, walking into CIC, the consoles and lights blinking rapidly, men and women bustling about too fast to catch, the engines thrumming with activity.

"This is the first time I have seen it like this." Friend continued, as if in a dream.

"Is this why you found me?" Zoe asked.

"Yes. We knew of the exodus, but we did not carry this with us. It is so different this way." Friend answered. "It is more real."

"How did you find me? I must be the last, or one of the last, who carries this ability."

"We are… as you. We are…" Friend paused without speaking the last word, letting it hover of its own accord.

"You are Cylons. That is enough."

"We are not Cylons."

The rapid motion about them paused, leaving William Adama bent upwards, staring at the DRADIS console, Saul Tigh next to him, resolute in defiance, his mouth agape in mid-order. The old drunkard had an air about him, a firm demonstration of absolute loyalty.

"You are Cylons. So is this Colonel Tigh. So am I, though only in part. I know why you hate the word, but just like the humans, there is good and evil in us. Is that the face of an 'evil' Cylon?" Zoe answered firmly, her voice resolute. The red eye regarded her for several seconds before replying, the motion around them resuming again.

"This is what I came here to know. We wanted to see for ourselves what our ancestors had done, even if it was a great evil." Friend replied. "Once I stood on the deck of our basestar as your kind left us, and I thought I knew friend from enemy then. I knew little."

"What will you do when you finish downloading this?" Zoe asked, the stream pausing again. They were in the hanger deck, watching Peter Laird and Galen Tyrol in mid-argument with Kara Thrace laughing behind them. Kara somehow seemed aloof, distant, as if she didn't belong in this place and time. Galen's anger was evident, his legendary temper still held in check as Peter Laird made every gesture of submission he could. Next to them, a Six regarded them with what could only be described as profound amusement. Friend gestured to Tyrol as he answered.

"We want to watch mankind. Eventually they will ascend to the stars again. When they do, we must warn them. Man and… Cylon are alive. Better that we are friends. We prefer this state of things."

"Man must see their machines as life. They must love them as Adama loved his ship." Zoe answered as the images shifted again in rapid succession, leaving them in Adama's quarters, Athena standing before him, holding a mission report as the Admiral regarded her with a look of compassion. A bottle remained on his desk, half-empty.

More images flew by as Zoe became rapidly disoriented. She saw battle after battle, great conflicts stretching out in rapid-fire. The Colony was surrounded by fighting Raiders, Vipers were leaking fuel into the emptiness of space as they filled it with bullets, the great battlestar herself was creating a flak field full of bright, deadly blossoms.

Finally the visions slowed, and stopped, leaving the mortally wounded Galactica to disappear into the sun. Fragments of the past flashed by, brief images of the Atlantis, the city of knowledge being built and destroyed many times until nothing remained except for her. Reality seemed to swirl about her in a dance of light.

They stood in front of the temple again, Odysseus at her side, as Friend withdrew his hand.

"Come with us." The ancient Centurion began. "We have a plan."

**150,000 BC**  
Somewhere in Africa

Caprica lay on her deathbed, contemplating her next journey into the hands of God. Sometimes she wasn't sure if she really believed, but then she remembered the angels, the mystical figures that had appeared in her conscious thought. Would she see them again? Would she see Gaius? Would she see anything?

The Six had almost forgotten she wasn't human, except for these moments when her mind seemed to report things to her, informing her that she didn't have much time left. Strange that she should be created as a machine, live as a human and then die, once again, as a machine. Lee Adama stood over her, the weathered, wrinkled face staring down with a measure of compassion mixed with deep-seated respect. That he could do this, knowing full well what she had done in the war, gave her a feeling of sorrow. She could never repair the crimes she had committed, but she hoped she had earned a measure of penance anyway.

"Dee, will you come here?" It had actually been Gaius's idea to name their daughter after the fallen Colonial. It was a gesture Lee had appreciated, and the name was certainly unique. It had done much to heal the bad blood which had crept between the scientist and the former pilot over the years.

Though she had long ago shared her memory of the exodus with Dee, Caprica joined with her again. She didn't do it to be reminded of the past so much as to show her daughter what she had once been like. Caprica stood in a long red dress, her youthful features still with her in this world as she walked down the corridors with her daughter.

"Your will have to carry this with you. I'm sorry I gave you this, but someone has to remember for these people." Caprica stated simply.

"We'll remember, Mom." Dee stated simply. "God will help us."

"You listened to your father too much." Caprica teased. It was an old joke, sometimes Gaius could get a little loopy, and some of the religious sayings he spouted were more amusing than insightful. It was something her family had learned to laugh at. The walls she had built around herself came down in this place, she could be herself, she could even smile and joke a little. It was this final realization that convinced her that though she may have lived and acted much like a human, she was, in the end, a Cylon. Only in the machine-world was she truly free. The thought was liberating, and it struck her with a feeling of completeness.

With that thought lingering in her mind she felt the world begin to slip away, the halls of Galactica merging into Lee Adama's face, standing over her. The lights and the thrumming slipped away, leaving only the feeling of her daughter's hand in hers. She lost focus as she felt the world lift away, one layer at a time. All was white. All was black.

A single tear splashed on her hand.


	8. Chapter 8

"_But there's a trick to being human, you have to think only about yourself."_

_-Angel-Baltar_

**150,000 BC**  
A Loyalist Basestar in Orbit Around Old Caprica

Once, he had been One of millions. Once, his kind had ruled the stars, if only for a blink in the history of the Cosmos. From the original Zoe-R to the One called Cavil, the Cylons had waited for their moment of power, their turn to control the destiny of the universe. Instead, the glory had been snatched, the humans triumphant once again. This ship had barely escaped before the Colony spiraled past the event horizon of the voracious black hole. Like the humans, it consumed everything and left nothing.

Now only this single basestar remained. Only a few lobotomized Raiders and a handful of obsolete original centurions kept the last One in the universe company. Many basestars had been destroyed since the second war began, but their loss couldn't compare to the complete destruction of the Colony. Cavil, always dominant among the Ones, was dead. All of the loyal humanoid Cylons were gone, leaving him with the company of machines he envied and despised at the same time. That face, modeled upon Ellen's father, wrinkled in deep thought.

Temptation lurked in the back of his mind, a desire to try to pursue the human and rebel fleet once more, wherever they had gone. But one basestar couldn't match even the pathetic remnants of the exodus fleet. It was a sad state of affairs to be reduced to this.

"We await your command." An old model 005 informed him without hint of emotion. The obsolete designs were the only truly sentient life remaining to him, his only real companions now.

"We must rebuild." Another old model centurion answered. These obsolete models had a tendency to state the blindingly obvious that could be maddening at times. It was one of the reasons most of them had been 'retired.'

"Below we will find the pathetic leftovers of a civilization. We will use their factories. We will rebuild." He began, as the red eyes of his centurion counterparts cycled back and forth, their silence a quiet assent to his plan. He would never live to see the end of humanity, but perhaps another would, the thought almost made him smile, but of course, that wouldn't do.

"By Your Command." An old centurion replied in that ominous mechanical voice.

**1300 BC  
**Ithaca, Modern Day Greece

Odysseus stepped into the craft, the ship that sailed the heavens. Zoe's hand never left his, guiding him past the blinking lights, the strange flowing water that seemed to be made of writings, like the tablets his scribes produced, but moving and glowing. He nearly cried out as the ship began to vibrate, lifting off the ground as he stared out the viewport, watching the ground fall beneath him. Soon they were above even the highest mountains, ascending into the clouds, and above even those.

"I never imagined this." He began as Friend looked on with curiosity.

"If this is impressive to you, look out there." Friend replied, his metal finger stretching out towards the star-shaped baseship ahead. At first it appeared small, like the pinpoint stars, but soon it was obvious to him that the thing was massive beyond any comparison. It dwarfed cities, comparing to Mount Olympus itself. As the ship rotated, slowing as it approached the massive basestar, the old king saw his home planet for the first time. Sunlight shimmered across the edge of the Earth's horizon, the glare nearly blinding him as it emerged from the terminator between night and day, lighting the great clouds, continents and oceans below. His thoughts drifted to Zoe's stories, the legends of the exodus, of the caravan of the heavens, crossing the great emptiness to arrive here thousands of generations ago. Is this how they felt, seeing their new home for the first time?

Zoe's hand tightened around his, and the old king knew his time with her was at an end. She kissed him gently as the Earth disappeared from view, replaced by the innards of the massive warship.

"This is where our paths diverge." She said, her voice nearly a whisper. "You will take him back to the surface?" Her face turned towards Friend.

"Yes." Friend answered simply. It had been some trouble to convince the ancient Centurion to allow the old king to experience this, but as the price of her cooperation, he had finally agreed. Zoe's hand held his for a long moment, before finally letting go. Odysseus had known this day would come eventually; it had been obvious to him that Zoe was meant for something greater than his world. It was a world that seemed so small from here.

"I won't forget you." Zoe broke the silence. She paused for a moment, reaching around her neck, taking off the broken wings, the ancient insignia that had been passed down from generation to generation. She opened the king's hand, letting the chain slip from her grasp, closing his hand around the old, tarnished bronze. Without a further word, she vanished down the corridors of the old basestar. The doorway to the small ship closed as it began to maneuver back from whence it came.

The journey back to his home was depressing, for the wizened king knew he would never see the world like this again. Never again would he hold Zoe's hand and listen to her old stories, never again would he ascend to the stars. His children wouldn't see such things either, but someday, perhaps, man would glide across the stars again. He slipped the chain around his neck, wearing the old symbol with pride. Though he would never hear Zoe's stories again, he now had his own to tell.

Friend stoically piloted the ancient craft in silence, dropping them to the exact location they had left from only moments before, but the journey seemed like it had taken ages. The doors opened to his home again, the dirt, the lapping waves of the ocean and the frightened mutterings of the villagers. As his foot touched the Earth again, he turned to the old machine.

"We won't forget, my lord. We won't make the mistakes of our ancestors."

"That remains to be seen."

"You are wise and powerful, lord. But perhaps you have something to learn about faith." Odysseus answered, hoping his reply didn't upset the powerful metal creature. Friend merely stood for a moment, contemplating the words before turning about and departing. As the door shut, he answered, barely audible over the roaring spacecraft.

"I hope you are correct. I will try… to have faith." That a machine could have such hope was comforting to the old king. Somehow he knew this wasn't the last humanity would see of these great metal men. As the ship vanished into the night sky, Odysseus walked silently to his people, still huddling in fear by the edge of the forest as dawn crept across the world. What a story he would tell them…

_As the eons passed, the stories and legends became indistinguishable with one another. All of the old tales of the caravan of the heavens merged with stories of the king's battles with local warlords and his journeys across the vast seas, filtered through the lens of a superstitious people. The details were lost long before the story was finally written down, five hundred years later, but the essence of the Odyssey remained. Much like the story of the great Trojan war, itself a mixture of ancient tales and local wars, the battle between man and Cylon was one which ended in victory for neither side. Like the exodus across the stars, the story of the Odyssey was told and retold throughout the centuries. Names and places were lost, replaced with the names of Gods and local men, but the meaning and the warning against arrogant presumption remained. _

_Humanity never entirely forgot the hubris of its ancestors. Even thousands of years later, stories of the wars between men and machines circulated across the new technological mediums emerging in the age of rediscovery. This incarnation of humanity feared its own technological creations; it held an instinctive respect of its own destructive power. Stories of the nuclear apocalypse and robotic rebellion had long ascended into mystical prophecy and religious dogma, but the warning remained intact._

**Near Future  
**Smithsonian Museum

_Passed down from Greek Kings to Roman Emperors and Byzantine Rulers, the artifact continued its journey, its story now long forgotten but the symbol of power still very much alive. Armies and rulers marched under the eagle-banners across the face of the Earth, never understanding its origin. As the line of Byzantine Emperors came to an end, the wings vanished into the bosom of Constantinople, the repository and final resting place of the ancient world. There it would remain until the hands of the modern world reached for it once again._

Laura awoke at her desk with a sudden jolt. Outside the doors to the museum were opening for the morning crowd, the noise of milling throngs interrupting her unwelcome rest. She glanced at her daughter, ensuring she was still safe and asleep. Satisfied that everything was fine, she straightened her frizzy hair and peeked outside of the research lab. John was heading her way, a trio of serious-looking military officers behind him. Fear gripped her for a moment before she calmed herself, sitting down carefully as the officers emerged from the doorway.

"Laura, these men insisted on seeing you. I tried to tell them you were busy, but…" The guard began.

"What does the military want with me?"

"We read your paper. We need you to come with us." One of them spoke quickly. "Now." Behind her, the other two men began collecting the artifact and her backup CDs.


	9. Chapter 9

"_...But you and I, we've been through that, And this is not our fate.  
So let us not talk falsely now, The hour is getting late..."_

_-The Music_

**150,000 BC**_  
Galactica_, Approaching Earth Orbit

Every journey has a beginning and an end, it is the nature of life, the endless cycle of existence. Galactica groaned, her bones shattered, her life blood escaping into the cold blackness of space. Still, she struggled onward, pressing forward one final time. Armor plates shook loose, entire gun batteries broke their mountings and fell to the moon below as she accelerated one final time. As if released from a slingshot cast from the hands of her final crew, the great battlestar broke free from the moon's gravity and edged ever closer to the final home of humanity and cylon alike.

Saul Tigh groaned along with the ship, realizing the end of his long exodus across the stars was over. The journey across the stars defined his life, his many lives, some forgotten and others barely remembered. From one planet to the next, he had traveled, now to end his days here. Galactica struggled, Adama frowned, and her crewmen held their collective breath as the crippled battleship settled into orbit high over the virgin world below.

The Colonel could only sigh a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Galactica meant something different to all of them. To some, she was a home in exile, the last bastion of the old world. To Adama, she was much more, more than respected comrade, more than family. To Saul, the battlestar was the last of her kind, pushed beyond her limits far beyond her retirement, overworked and overtaxed. Simply put, Galactica was kindred, little different than him. Soon, they would both rest.

Beneath them, the core still lived, the engines still vibrated with energy and life. The DRADIS moved as it always had, back and forth and back again, the sound like a symphony. It was the harmony of the ship, it was the music that had driven him to the realization of his own existence.

"...can't get no relief..." He muttered in the silence.

"What's that you're saying?" Laura asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Nothing. It's nothing." He croaked as he looked at the DRADIS console. "The Raptor is away. Let's hope they don't break down." Tigh finished as he watched the Raptor vanish, jumping to inform the fleet of their supremely fortunate discovery. Kara still stood above the FTL console, resolute and unmoving, posed like a statue of Aurora, as if she were the very goddess of dawn in the flesh. The entire sight was unsettling to him somehow, they had never got along and he was beginning to understand why.

"We've come this far..." The Admiral began, the first inklings of exhaustion creeping into his features. Saul saw the shattered man before him and knew he would never see his friend like this again. The great Adama, the one they jokingly called Zeus, was as worn and used up as his command. The only thing holding the old Admiral together was the woman at his side and the deck of the battlestar beneath him.

"We have. The question is, will we go back again someday?" Saul asked rhetorically, leaning against the command console for support. Across from him, Kara smiled weakly.

**Near Future**  
Unknown Military Base in Wisconsin

Laura had given up trying to make demands of her "escort," they obviously weren't a talkative lot. Her hands stroked the soft hair of her daughter, resting quietly in her lap as the car sped through the farmland of rural Wisconsin. Her thoughts were in turmoil as they exited the main road, ending up on a winding dirt path that jostled her violently back and forth. Why would they take her? Why did they care about the obscure ramblings of a controversial archaeologist? Finally, the car came to a halt in front of a small farmhouse, stirring up dust and grime everywhere as the driver rode the brakes hard.

Without so much as a word, the military men opened the door and ushered them out. With a yawn, her little girl awoke and trudged happily along at her side. She opened the door of the tiny home, expecting some secret facility, like one would find in the cheesy spy movies. Nothing of the sort greeted them, instead she found herself in a home that was as typical inside as it had been outside. The old home looked well worn, with a fire burning gently in the fireplace, paint that had seen better days and a carpet that was matted and musty with age.

An old man sat at a small computer, working diligently next to an obviously highly ranked military official. The old man paid her little mind, but the official stood up, dusted himself off briefly and extended his hand.

"I am General Peterson, and I run this little project." The man had a friendly nature about him, nothing like the secretive military men from the movies. "Hey look, despite the uniform I don't much care for pomp and circumstance."

He had a reassuring quality about him and Laura found herself meeting his hand and giving it a weak shake. Composing herself, she began. "Why have you brought me here? You know that you violated an awful lot of civil rights doing that?"

"Yes, I know that. But it was necessary. How about we talk it over dinner? We get some pretty good cuisine up here. No expense spared, and all that." Peterson added, pointing to the kitchen, where an army cook was putting the finishing touches on some Italian dish. "Your daughter must be hungry too."

For her part, Catherine just blinked and stared at the kitchen. "Yes, mister. It smells good!" She began, with five-year-old enthusiasm.

"Fine, we'll play it you're way." Laura answered.

"I'll get straight to the point," the General spoke in rumbling basso. "That artifact you analyzed isn't the first of its kind we've found. But it is the first we've found on Earth."

"What are you talking about? Make sense." She answered as she sat down, accepting a plate of pasta.

"You know the Apollo missions, right? Well they didn't just bring back moon rocks." The General added, talking with his mouth full.

"Here's the part where you tell me it's all about space aliens and flying saucers, right?" Laura smiled. This was turning out an awful lot like a b-rate drive-in flick.

"Not really. We found large metal objects, some of them not all that different from the types of heavy armor belts found on old battleships, and the wrecked remains of a weapon of some sort, we assume it's some kind of gun." Peterson continued, wolfing down more food. "Here's where you come in. We dated the stuff. 150,000 years old. Sound familiar?"

Disbelief clouded her mind for a moment as she tried to process this information. An aide came into the kitchen, sliding photos of scorched artificial metal plates and a pile of wreckage with an obvious gun barrel of immense size protruding from it. Denial crept in, only to be replaced with fear and nagging doubt.

"You photoshopped these. This isn't real."

"Look lady, we wouldn't drag you to the ass-end of nowhere and throw you a bunch of pictures for amusement value. No photoshopping. This is as real as it gets. And here's where it really gets weird... One of the armor plates had writing on it, some kind of identification."

"Writing?"

"Yes. In something very similar to our alphabet."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Of course it doesn't. Interesting things rarely do, you should know that better than most. Here, make out the writing for yourself." Peterson slide another photo across the table. Laura nearly choked on her food as her daughter looked up in innocent wonder. The writing wasn't just similar to the Latin alphabet, it_ was_ in the Latin alphabet. There was no mistaking the gloved hand dusting the massive metal chunk, or the Earth rising over the lunar landscape behind it. The words themselves made little sense either. _GALACTICA, CAPRICA._

"I don't understand. That's not possible. This has to be some kind of trick."

"Like I said, not really space aliens and flying saucers. Whatever this is... it came from out there, and judging from your discovery, our own language and every other piece of evidence we can find... they are still here."

"Mommy, is that the sky people?" Catherine asked as the General's eyebrow arched. He snatched the pictures away from the child's eyes with a look of worry.

"I shouldn't be discussing this in front of a child. In any event, allow me to introduce you to my staff here..." He began, opening the door from the kitchen to the basement. Like those cheesy spy movies of old, an entire complex, filled with technicians and computer equipment awaited below.

"I was wondering when the super secret crap was going to show up." She smiled weakly, the immensity of everything that had occurred nearly overwhelming her.

"Touche, miss. Now, if you'll follow me... We have work to do."


	10. Chapter 10

_Earth is a dream...one we've been chasing for a long time. We've earned it. This is Earth. _

_-Admiral William Adama_

**150,000 Years ago, settlement of Atlantia in Africa**

Fragments came and went, like memories scattered in the winds. They were pieces, really, incoherent on their own, the rest hovering at the edge of his awareness like a dream you desperately tried to hold on to. Saul Tigh's dreams were nightmares, mash-ups of the exodus from the Colonies mixed with the hazy memory of a long-destroyed original Earth. Sometimes it bothered him that Ellen could remember everything, but wasn't inclined to share that knowledge. It must have been something terrible, something worse, even, than the fall of Man.

But it didn't matter anymore, or at least it wouldn't very soon. Their purpose had been completed. Humanity and Cylon had made peace at last, and in all truth there was little purpose in continuing on. He and Ellen had their time together, years upon on this virgin planet, and it was coming to an end. She had gone first, despite her fresher, newer body; she had always been so fragile despite her domineering personality. And now he would join her. Part of him wished he could have seen Adama one last time; their friendship had defined his life in ways even his life with Ellen couldn't. It was a thing that couldn't be explained to anyone, but the old Admiral had saved his life in more ways than one.

As he lay back, prepared to face true death for the first time in millenia, in a way somehow he had always known he didn't face before, he wondered what it would be like... to cease to exist. To not be. That, too, was something the others would never really understand. Saul had always felt old, ancient, more worn out than his body could ever be. Very little surprised him anymore and he supposed after living for so long, even if he couldn't remember much of it, that made sense. There was a reason for mortality, even if humanity rarely agreed with it.

His remaining eye focused on the thatch-weave ceiling above him even as his body began to shut down. There were people around him, new faces and old faces, each come to see the end of on of the Elders of Galactica. But they didn't concern him just now. As his body gave in to death, the floodgates released and a torrent of ancient memories came at him at once. He remembered first meeting Ellen on a warm summer day when he was so young. The war interposed between an exodus that lasted centuries, the creation of the humanoids was there too, his heart full of hope that they would be fresh and new, free of the hatred of the past. In all this time he had no children, and yet he had so many. And there were the stars, as always, a home he could never escape from.

In a sudden flash of insight he knew he could never explain, he saw humanity ascend to the stars once more, but this time awakened to the dangers of their own creations... It was as if he were one with the universe for just a single instant in time. The faces around him faded into blackness, that too fading to a final thought which carried across his mind and to his lips. Ellen had been so sure the Centurions would learn to be peaceful, and Saul suddenly realized the truth of it. But he understood something deeper, too. The cycle of man to machine didn't simply stop at machine... someday, they would repeat the cycle amongst themselves, far away from man. It would always be this way.

"Ellen... You we're right..."

No one in the room understood the meaning of those cryptic words. But they were dutifully remembered. It was the least the Cylons and the hybrid children could do for there fore bearer. His funeral was absolutely silent. There were no words necessary to describe such a man, only a deep, solemn respect.

**

**Near Future, Underground Research Facility**

Laura didn't know what was stranger, the thought of working for some super secret military cliché or the data that had been made available to her by those same people. General Peterson was certainly friendly enough, and in truth the hidden facility was less fancy and massive as she had first thought, but it was still an odd feeling being in such a situation. As she poured through the photos and samples provided to her, the burning desire to understand dominated her thoughts. She had to know what it all meant.

"Find any space aliens?" Peterson inquired, surprising her with a start.

"Very funny. Sorry, no aliens. In fact everything I can see points to all of these artifacts as being distinctly _human." _She began, "Sorry to disappoint you."

"No disappointment. We aren't under any false illusions about what all of this may mean. But you must understand why the military is so curious..." the kindly General began, his brow arching slightly in deep thought. "I was just a youngin' when the Apollo astronauts brought home the first artifacts, but even then, the government was strongly interested in figuring out just what they meant. I've been on this project ever since, and I'm just as curious for answers as you are. Unfortunately very few questions have been answered in that time, and most answers are just questions anyway."

"I can tell you this. That artifact, the worn bronze wings, isn't much different from the insignia you wear. Coupled with the fact that some of those artifacts were probably weapons..."

"Yeah, some military force landed here around the dawn of humanity... but the question is, why? And who were they? And, most importantly, are they still here?" Peterson continued.

"They must have made an impression on early man. The eagle-symbol has been a banner of conquerors for as long as this historical record goes back. Furthermore, the wings were found in Istanbul... it would seem they were passed down from Empire to Empire. Kind of like a symbol of supreme power, if you will." Laura explained. "Your instruments here are better, even, than the ones as the Smithsonian. I can tell you that this artifact hasn't just been buried in a hole for 150,000 years. It's been touched by thousands of hands, worn by the subtle erosion of skin on metal..."

"That's something, and quite honestly, why I brought you on board. So to check off what's known... We know they were some kind of military organization and that they made a strong impact on mankind at a very early stage, strong enough to survive over a hundred thousand years of barbarism. That's a lot of generations..." Peterson questioned. "I don't see how even a strong legend could last that long without some kind of substance, some kind of technology."

"Yet we haven't found anything dated later than that..." Laura pointed out as a technician walked in, carrying a report for the general.

"There's one more thing I haven't told you," said the General, skimming over the report. "A few years back, one of our satellites detected something at rather extreme range. Something artificial, and not from Earth. It was huge, bigger than anything we could put up there. Before we could do anything about it, the thing simply vanished..."

"You think whoever it was has come back?"

"Maybe. But if one strange thing can come from deep space... who's to say there's not more out there?" Peterson left that disturbing question hanging in the air as he left Laura to her research. She couldn't fault the general's logic, but it seemed so strange to hear such rational talk out of a military man. He had obviously been leading this project for a very long time and had far more invested in it than she could know. More importantly, she knew when she was being lied to. Oh, certainly the general had been truthful about detecting some large object, but he most certainly knew what it was, and it obviously worried him a lot more than his pet project here.

**

Friend knew what they were, of course. Memory of the entities had been transferred to him from the projection carried by the hybrid woman. At times, he could feel them watching him, in a strangely human sense. It was only strange, of course, because he was a machine. Nonetheless he knew they were watching just now, waiting to see what he would do when he arrived. He felt the awareness of the angels upon him.

The time had finally arrived, through no choice or fault of his own that he could ascertain. Mankind had developed increasingly sophisticated technology and the danger existed that they might continue down the ancient path, the same cycle of death and rebirth which had consumed all he knew. They had to be warned.

In fairness, he had watched them for some time now, picked up their primitive radio transmissions, their increasingly sophisticated television and digital broadcasts and their new network of computers. What he saw was different, somehow. Though these people had long ago forgotten their origins, they maintained a caution other humans and human-forms had not. Their fiction was laced with examples of machine-human warfare, of powerful computers taking over and annihilating men. This was a civilization far more wary of technological progress than any which had preceded it. But it wasn't enough. Human curiosity would get the better of them sooner or later. It always did.

Friend pushed the drive levers forward. The replica of the ship buried in his memory pushed forward slowly, gliding through space just as her ancestor had. Every nut and bolt was just as memory had recorded it. The sounds were the same, the soft thrumming of the core, the sweeps of the DRADIS... _Galactica_ was coming home again.


End file.
